And I have dawned these great dark seas and jungles before
They have long come for me. I have twisted in their wrath and shook in their cold as the sweat of their toxins ran down my brow
You who seeks to protect me while destroying me, what are you truly seeking?
For your paranoia has made you a fool. A tyrant, yeast in its palm.
Calling yourself holy while riddled with holes seeping poison.
I am the keeper of this forest of green. My winds are strong, the brown of my dirt is beastly, and the shake of my ground is earth shattering.
So, who are you to call upon my land? You bring your dented sword to fight the poachers while simultaneously leading them straight to my centers.
Sometimes you want so much to be the keeper, to be the wrath of good, to be the honest gallant, but find that while fighting these hard battles and stepping with agony through each field, that you are the villain you’ve been running from.
So, step aside and let this evil you bring with you come for me. Kneel while they tear me flesh from flesh. Turn away your head while gnash my teeth away.
Let. Them. Come.
For they know who I am.
I have spent much in solitude in preparation for your treachery.
My heart guarded with the thickest of water from the deepest and darkest seas.
If I fall in defeat, you will still be there kneeling, and you and your army will be swallowed by my earth. You will drown in the water of my roots and in turn, revive me again.
And there I shall be in my forest of green yet again, with you beneath my beastly brown, and sentenced to a lifetime of earthquakes beneath my worn feet.
I am oppressed by the absence of you. You are roaming around in my mind like an out of control ping-pong ball. You are stomping through my chest, ripping away at my heart. The silence is screaming in the mangled words that are forming on the paper in front of me. I can hear your voice echoing, “bye”, over and over, and the sliding of my vehicle skidding down the driveway.
We are but little blimps on the maps of this world. Given one time to try to float where we can. But selfishly, we waste it. Every one of us. We focus on things that fizzle out instead of miraculous opportunities that may be right in front of our noses.
Now, look at us, alone we sit. A very familiar place indeed. This is why the silence continues. The stubbornness of our enjoyment of loneliness. The inspiration of the sadness within it. I feel restless and incomplete. The incompetence of what people call relationships is a mystery to someone like me. For me, there’s an investment of time built around the knowledge and adventure a person can match with me. I ask nothing of them in a physical or financial sense on purpose. I want it to be an open book, not capable of resentment for miniscule things. No regrets. If it works, then a lifetime of hard-earned happiness has bred itself from a place of pure dedication and partnership. If it does not work, you move on, grateful for the company, new knowledge, and passion fueled by intrigue. You mend your broken heart over time with the same two feet you stood on, on your own. And you remember everything. Because a lesson is truly the most important tribute you can take with you throughout your entire life, even when the season with each person or adventure has passed.
Love is an equivalent to a broad-stroke of freedom from anchors in the water. The waves can break against you even while you smile with the wind in your hair. You weather through each of the rough patches, clinging to a balcony. And when you finally get still again, what remains is what is to move on to the next phase with you.
So, I’ll sit here in meditation. Pain or not. Because it’s not new to me. And when the waves are done breaking against me, and the air around me becomes still again, I will move to the next phase, whatever that may be, with what or who remains by my side. And no matter how difficult that may be or how that may look, I will be grateful for every presence that has crossed my path, and eternally grateful for the lesson that each one taught me. Because each one, uniquely woven, makes up some of the most magical notches on the most beautiful of Orion’s belts in my galaxy. And who could really frown on such a glorious sky?
Are you intrigued by the blood that drips from my teeth?
More than that that is pumping in my veins..
This constant siren within me, pulsating my hands to do these things that I can not control. The tiniest part of me that says, do not jump yet. For there is much still left to do.
Jump only when the last person has heard the piercing of the knife that slides in and out of this heart. Blackened like a fish on a plate, with spices.
Some would say this pain is intricately woven through my soul so beautifully. And they would even say that they could yearn for the spirit that comes from within it.
But it is only because they have not experienced the fullness of its wrath.
For if you ever let this pain sit atop you, and embrace you with its love, it will violently claw you open and find orgasmic pleasure in the spewing of your blood. Once you let it in this position of control, you can not stop it. Give it any amount of control, and there is no going back.
You have no idea the amount of dead places this pain breeds from.
Your God cannot save you from the inequities you have so contributed. And maybe your victim will burn along side you. For the hate you started inside.
There so be, burn, burn, burn. If there is no relief herein, where shall there be any?
I would not let go of this pain now if it was all but handed to me. For it is tattooed into me like beautiful scars cut with the sharpest of knives. And you will not also take this from me.
It is mine, just as your lonely death will be your own. They will bury it with me just as a priest with his cross. And only then, will I breathe a breath of rest….
The Truth and the Lies of the Journey 